Update README.md

README.md

@@ -721,7 +721,7 @@ Caleb,
 
 They strung up the damned Yankee flag from that blasted iron monstrosity this mornin' – the one they call Fort Sumter now. A black stain against the dawn sky like a widow's splatter of coal dust across the cheek of a saint. Saw it through the grime of the bakery window, smear of sugared yeast and stale bread crust clinging to it thicker'n usual. Mrs. Clementine swore it was a blight on the Lord's own breadbasket. She said it, spit-hard and with a hand clapped over her maw, like it were a cur's cough in the hallowed aisle. She spat into the gutter again, that's all it ever gets ‘em to do these days, spittin'.
 
-Truth be told, boy, the baker's wife don't see much difference ‘twixt a Union rag and the Devil's own dungaree apron. I reckon neither do half the men lining up with their pewter mugs at sunrise. Used to be a nigger's skin they spat at. Now it's the smell of wet wool and kerosene they choke down. Same sour taste though, come mornin'. 
+Truth be told, boy, the baker's wife don't see much difference ‘twixt a Union rag and the Devil's own dungaree apron. I reckon neither do half the men lining up with their pewter mugs at sunrise. Used to be a n*****'s skin they spat at. Now it's the smell of wet wool and kerosene they choke down. Same sour taste though, come mornin'. 
 
 They say the air's thick with it, all the way down to Savannah. Thick as hog molasses, the men mutter, thick enough to choke a man's prayers right down his gullet. You ever choke on prayer, Caleb? Felt like a frog's tongue in a dry mouth? That's what Pa says this country's feelin' like.